The Visitor Read online

  “Let’s pray, Cassie. Let’s pray for Henry right now.”

  The women did just that. For long minutes they sat together and asked God’s blessing in Henry’s life. They prayed for Charlotte, Barrington, and Edward, confessed their own lack of courage over the years, and then asked God to work a great work in their lives, especially for those still at Newcomb Park, so that they might be a light in Collingbourne as long as God allowed.

  Brown Manor

  “You’re looking well, Mrs Weston,” Dr Smith told her after a brief examination. “How are you feeling?”

  “Very well, but I do wish I could be up and about.”

  The doctor asked a few more questions, Weston standing nearby, and then looked at the fine young couple before him.

  “You’re over five months along now. If you still have no more spotting at the six-month mark, you may be on your feet for two hours a day.”

  Anne smiled as though he’d handed her the world.

  “Any bleeding, dizziness, fatigue, or blurred vision, and you must return to bed. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Dr Smith. Thank you.”

  “Keep your activity light, and be wise.”

  Anne lay smiling at the ceiling while Weston saw the good doctor out. Her skin, hips, and back ached from the hours in bed, but a reprieve was on the way.

  “You’re looking pleased.”

  Anne beamed at Weston when he returned.

  “It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  Anne stared at her husband.

  “Am I shorter than you are?” she teased. “I believe I’ve forgotten.”

  “Well, you were,” he teased right back, “but all of this lying down might have given you a chance to grow.”

  “Only in the middle, I fear.”

  Weston leaned to kiss her expanding waist. “I’ll write to my mother right away.”

  “Do, Weston. And please ask her to visit again when the baby is due.”

  “I shall.”

  Not able to help himself, Weston kissed her again, this time on the lips. He thought she would be in this bed until her pains began. What a wonderful surprise to learn that he was wrong.

  Pembroke

  The eye patches came away easily, but Dr Tilney commanded Tate to keep his eyes closed. Dr Tilney had also ordered the drapes drawn, so the room was dim. Tate worked at not being anxious, but the temptation to open his eyes was nearly overpowering.

  “All right, Mr Tate, you may open your eyes,” Dr Tilney said from directly in front of him. “Slowly, I think, would be best.”

  Tate did so, not able to rush even if he’d wanted. His lids flickered and then carefully opened all the way. He forced his eyes wide for a moment before attempting to look around.

  “Remember that the drapes are drawn.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  “Shadows mostly, but things aren’t nearly so dark.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to open the drapes over this one window, so turn your eyes for a moment.”

  Tate heard the movement to his side and then was told to look back.

  “I don’t want you to have pain, so turn away if the light hurts.”

  Tate moved his head slowly, his heart sinking.

  “What do you see?”

  “A lot of light, but things are still out of focus.”

  “How much light?”

  “I think all there is.”

  Without a word, the doctor moved to the other windows. The room was now fully lit, but as Tate had said, things were blurry around the edges. He watched the doctor come toward him, and found his face a mass of flesh with few distinctive features.

  The doctor looked into Tate’s eyes and ran a few tests. He questioned him about pain or dizziness as he moved along.

  “No, nothing like that,” Tate said, discounting the disappointment in his heart.

  “I’m very pleased. Two more months with the patches, and I think we’ll know where we stand.”

  Tate had all he could do not to sigh. Blurry as it was, the light was delightful.

  “May I look for just a few more minutes?”

  The doctor nodded in understanding. “I’ll gather my things and make one more check, but then it’s back to darkness.”

  “Very well.”

  Ten minutes later the patches were in place, the doctor was gone, and Aunt Harriet was at his door.

  “How are you?”

  “Disappointed, but dealing with it.”

  “I’m so sorry, dear. Ring if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  It has occurred to me—Tate began speaking to God the moment he was alone—that I thought I knew Your will. I was so certain You would return my sight by now. If I had been questioned, I would have said I was accepting either way, but my present disappointment tells me that I was not ready for this.

  Cassandra lingered in his mind just seconds later. He’d never really considered asking her if she could have feelings for a blind man, so certain was he that his sight would be fully restored.

  But that is what I want to know right now, Tate confessed. Even more than wanting my sight back, I wonder what Cassandra Steele thinks of me. I ache at the thought of her exiting my life. Something akin to grief fills me, even greater than the thought of living life in a haze.

  The more Tate thought on it, the more determined he was to ask Cassandra a few questions, but when he tried to picture himself doing such a thing, something inside him froze.

  “This is not good,” he said aloud to the empty room. “If I can’t get the nerve in my heart, how will I go about it when she’s with me?”

  With no forthcoming answer, and having to face the fact that he wasn’t as thankful as he ought to be, Tate was left alone with his prayers. He determined to agree with God about whatever He planned and to restore the trust he’d worked on from the moment he woke in darkness.

  “Which map is your favorite to study, Henry?”

  “Probably Africa.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, Edward is there, and it’s so vast.”

  Cassandra didn’t ask him anything else. Their morning rides were a great deal more chatty than they’d ever been, but the youngest Steele still tried to be sensitive to Henry’s need for silence.

  “Will you be going to Pembroke today?” Henry asked just when they were arriving back at the stables.

  “Unless I get word.”

  “Is that what happened yesterday?”

  “Yes. The note didn’t say why, but I was asked to postpone until today.”

  Henry had nothing more to say as the two went in to breakfast, but Cassandra didn’t notice. She was too busy wondering if she would, in fact, be needed at Pembroke again.

  Africa

  In his tent, Edward Steele dug around in his bag, sure he’d placed his pad and pencil in there, but he wasn’t able to locate them. Pulling out a stack of letters, he noticed that the top one was from his sister, Lizzy. Edward opened it up, remembered reading it the first time. He took it out to the fire where his traveling companion, Thomas Morland, stood attempting to repair a leather strap on his bag.

  “Tell me, Morland,” Edward didn’t beat about the bush in asking, “have you ever noticed my sister Elizabeth?”

  Morland turned to look at Lizzy’s brother as though he had taken leave of his senses, but the younger man was staring back, his face serious. “Noticed her?” he questioned.

  “Yes. Noticed her.”

  “How could I not? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Why have you never shown any interest?”

  Morland laughed a little.

  “You can’t be serious. Your sister could have anyone she wished. Why would she pay the least attention to any interest on my part?”

  Edward brought the letter back up to his face and read, “‘Out of curiosity, Edward, does Morland ever speak of me or ask after me?
I know you won’t say anything to him, and he can’t see my red face from Africa, but I do wonder about it.’”

  Edward brought the letter down in time to see Morland lower himself slowly into a chair.

  Morland stared across the fire at the youngest Steele male, his face a bit pale under his tan.

  “I thought you knew,” Edward said when he could see how shaken his friend was.

  “Not a single hint.”

  “I’m sorry, old man. I would have asked you a bit differently.”

  “But she’s never given a single clue. Are you certain you understood her?”

  “You can read the letter yourself, Morland.”

  Morland only shook his head, his face a mask of confusion, and asked again, “But how would I know? She’s given nothing away!”

  Edward smiled a little at the frustration in his voice.

  “It was that way with Charlotte. She and Lizzy are both so pretty, and they’ve never wanted to flirt. Problem is, they’ve done such a good job that poor blokes like yourself are utterly in the dark. Barrington nearly lost his mind before he knew where he stood with Charlotte.”

  “What did he do?”

  Edward smiled again, the boyish smile that made him so likeable.

  “He took the plunge. He told her up front how he felt, with plans to leave the country if she refused him.”

  Morland didn’t laugh or smile, but Edward continued to keep it lighthearted.

  “You’ve already left the country, old man. All you need to do is write. If she rejects you, you’re already out of sight.”

  “No.” Morland surprised him with his seriousness. “This has to be handled in person.”

  Edward’s smile twisted a little.

  “It sounds as though our trip is going to be cut short.”

  “Not at all, Edward. You can stay on and enjoy yourself, but I’ve got to look into plans to get home to England.”

  Pembroke

  “How are you, Mr Tate?”

  “I’m well, Cassandra, thank you. Are you well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Not since the first few days had Cassandra felt so awkward. It was on her mind to ask why she hadn’t been needed the day before, but it was as if she’d been forbidden to speak of it.

  “The newspaper today?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Cassandra began to read without further ado, but something had changed. There was a tenseness in her listener that had not been present before. Her heart felt burdened over what to do. He was supposed to be resting, and to bring the subject up seemed all wrong to her. After all, he was old enough to know what he needed.

  Cassandra’s next thought chilled her to the bone. If he no longer wanted her and didn’t know how to inform her…

  “Are you all right?” Tate cut in.

  “Yes.” Cassandra suddenly stopped reading, sounding almost breathless.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I am, yes.” The redhead cleared her throat. “Why do you ask?”

  “Your voice sounds strained, as though something is bothering you.”

  Cassandra saw her chance but couldn’t find the words.

  “What is it, Cassandra?”

  “I just want you to know something. I mean, I’m sure you already do, but I want you to know it again.”

  “Go on.”

  Tate’s voice had taken on the patient tone that Cassandra found so comforting. When she tried again, her voice was calm.

  “I haven’t forgotten that you’re to be resting, and if ever my coming is too draining for you, I do hope you’ll tell me. I would never feel harmed in any way. I only wish you to gain all the rest you need.”

  “Thank you, Cassandra. I can assure you, I still find your visits very relaxing.”

  “Shall I continue?”

  “That would be fine, but before you do, will you tell me what made you think I wasn’t resting?”

  “You seem uneasy today.”

  “Do I?” he asked.

  “Yes. I realize there might be days like that, but I don’t wish to be the cause.”

  “How would you be the cause?”

  “Well, as I said, if you didn’t want me to return and were hesitant to tell me…”

  “I am hesitating about something today, but it’s not about your coming to read for me.”

  “Is there something I can do?”

  “I’m not sure. Shall I let you know if I figure it out?”

  “Please do.”

  Cassandra went on with the reading, relaxing into the article and enjoying it. The next piece was humorous, and it felt good to laugh together. But not until Cassandra had read two more articles did Tate tell her about the day before.

  “Dr Tilney checked my eyes yesterday.”

  “Was it painful?” Cassandra asked, her heart clenching at the thought.

  “No, but it wasn’t the news I’d hoped for. Two more months of darkness.”

  “So there was no progress?”

  “There was, but I somehow thought there would be more.”

  “Was it discouraging, or were you able to trust?”

  “The trust took a little time. All day, in fact.”

  “And today is better?”

  “Yes. Much. But as you surmised, not complete.”

  “I prayed for you, hoping you weren’t feeling ill.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  Silence fell for a moment, Tate’s heart telling him to jump, but he couldn’t manage it. The questions he had for Cassandra swarmed in his mind, but he couldn’t make his mouth move.

  “Shall we go on?”

  “I think I’m done for today,” Tate said, only then realizing she would leave.

  “Shall I return tomorrow, do you think, or would you rather send word if you need me.”

  I need you, Cassandra, please believe that I need you.

  “Please come,” Tate managed aloud. “Any time that suits you.”

  “All right.”

  “Thank you, Cassandra.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  A moment later he was on his own, his heart beating hard with emotion and something else he couldn’t quite define.

  When his Aunt Harriet checked on him a short time later, he still felt spent and hurt with all that was trapped inside of him. Harriet offered to play the piano for him, and Tate gladly moved to that room to enjoy her talent.

  Chapter Ten

  The Manse

  “John, what are you doing?” Judith asked her youngest child rather sharply, causing all of her family to look up from the breakfast table and stare at her. The moment they did this, she heard the tone of her own voice and went to him.

  “I didn’t mean to sound so cross, dear. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you, Mother. Are you unwell today?”

  “Just a bit crabby I think, and there’s no excuse for that.”

  “Why are you doing that with your eggs, John?” his father wished to know. The little boy had been lining up the egg pieces on the edge of his plate, and most were spilling onto the table and making a mess.

  “Look at me, John,” the pastor commanded. “Are you not hungry this morning?”

  “Not very.”

  “Why is that?”

  John managed a shrug.

  “In the future, when you don’t care to eat, you need to say something and not just sit there and play with your food. Understood?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Mother?” Jane tried in a quiet voice, but Judith didn’t answer. Judith’s stomach had acted up earlier, and the smell of breakfast was not a pleasant one. In an effort to keep her distance, she hadn’t even sat with the family at the table.

  “Why don’t you head up to bed,” Frederick suggested, his look telling her to go.

  Judith exited without a word, and Frederick looked to his children.

  “Have we done something?” Jeffery asked, his face concerned.

  “No, son, she’s
feeling unwell this morning; I don’t know why she didn’t tell you.”

  “She’s tired of using that as an excuse,” Margaret explained.

  “But she doesn’t use it as an excuse,” Frederick said in wonder, his brow furrowed in thought. “How do you know that, Margaret?”

  “I heard her tell Phoebe. She said she wants to cry all the time, and she’s tired of feeling sick to her stomach.”

  “Was it like this with all of us?” Jane asked.

  “A little different each time, I think. A little more emotional with each child.”

  “She looks tired,” Jane commented before everyone went back to breakfast. Frederick made short work of his and was headed up the stairs just minutes later. He found Judith on their bed. She was crying.

  “I’m a terrible mother,” she sobbed. “John said he didn’t feel like eating, and I didn’t even make sure he was all right.”

  Frederick sat beside her, his hand going to her soft, dark hair.

  “He’s fine, and the girls are right there.”

  “What’s the matter with me, Frederick? I want to cry constantly.”

  “When did this start?”

  “About a week ago. I have a constant headache in my effort to hold tears at bay.”

  “Well, don’t try anymore. Just let yourself cry. I think it was like this with Jane. It will pass.”

  Judith cried harder.

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing!” she wailed in a way that was so unlike her. “I just can’t stand it when I’m awful and you’re so kind!”

  Frederick’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, even as his gentle hand moved to stroke her back. They would get through, high emotions and all, and at some point, Judith would join him in the laughter.

  Newcomb Park

  Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God; for he will abundantly pardon.

  Cassandra began her twenty-fourth birthday with this verse from Isaiah 55. At the end of his sermon on Sunday, Pastor Hurst had read it, and she had been so struck by the words concerning God’s pardon that she’d written them down.